


A Real Prince for a Princess

by Rosa_Cotton



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, The Princess and the Goblin - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Coming of Age, Decisions, Drama, F/M, Gen, Marriage, Memories, Romance, Wishes, Wooing, post-The Princess and the Goblin, suitors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:04:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2580803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosa_Cotton/pseuds/Rosa_Cotton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now sixteen, Princess Irene finds her hand sought in marriage. Though flocked by suitors, she thinks of the mountain and the miner boy she has not seen for many years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Real Prince for a Princess

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: _The Princess and the Goblin_ , all characters, places, and related terms belong to George MacDonald.
> 
> Author’s Note: This is AU because _The Princess and Curdie_ does not take place.

I am no longer viewed as a child but as a lady. For the last six months I have had many suitors hoping to win my hand. Before, Papa had turned them all away, claiming I was yet too young. But now I’m sixteen, and he considers each one carefully since I’ve come of age.

I have been both amused and nervous by how many princes have come to woo me. Lootie has tried to instruct me in how to receive them and show my interest. But her advice makes my head spin. She continually suggests which suitors she thinks are worthy of me and would make a good alliance. And dear Papa, he quietly watches and waits.

My suitors have given me more gifts of silks and jewels and pets than I shall ever be able to use or care for. They come to court dressed in their fine robes, their skin rosy and smooth, and their hair gleaming and clean, smelling of perfume, golden crowns atop their heads. Their wealth and richness overwhelm me.

They have written for me sonnets and songs about sunshine and birds and my virtues and beauty. They sing to me about how I have stolen their hearts and plead for me to accept them. They make me want to laugh and cry. Instead of their vows of love, I desire to hear a song that frightened goblins back to their dark holes.

These princes are complete strangers to me, and yet they claim to love me. Lootie says I should be flattered. But can they love me truly when they know nothing about me except for being pretty and able to dance and play? I do not desire such praise, for I am not perfect. I know nothing of them, only that they are proud and rich. How can I give them my heart when they have not earned first my trust and friendship?

Their smooth, clean hands tell me they never have performed hard labor. They admire the sun and moon but have never ventured into the dark mines of the mountain and worked, their hands becoming rough and dirty.

They dress themselves in the richest fabrics, embroidered with gold and silver thread, shining with gems. I think of the plain clothes the miners wear and how proud they are of their trade.

My suitors promise to show me the sea, blue and green, glistening in the sun, and to walk on its sandy bank while waves rush in; it is a beautiful and romantic sight they tell me. However, I long to gaze on the mountain in whose shadow I lived for eight years. It is tall, dark, proud, and majestic, full of underground tunnels.

They tell me of the tournaments they’ve won, the battles they fought, and the princesses they have rescued. I listen politely and smile. I, though, know a boy who, when only about twelve, foiled the plan of the goblins and flooded their own tunnels. Even now I still shudder, wondering what would have become of me if the goblins had succeeded in carrying me off and wedded me to their prince.

My suitors are tall, broad shouldered, and handsome; some of them have beards, others mustaches, with blond, black, and even grey hair. Their eyes of black, blue, or brown shine with self-pride, arrogance, conceit; they look down on those below them. Yet to me they are courteous and sweet and loving. Their appearances do not touch or deceive me. How I wish one of them would be as gentle, kind, humble, and brave as the little miner boy with hazel eyes and dark curls. But none of them are; if only one of them were like him, I might be content.

Marriage beckons me forward, but I only want to gaze back on my childhood. And wonder how Curdie and his parents are.

THE END


End file.
